1981 Hogwarts
by edgar allan foe
Summary: Olympia is an unwanted child living in an orphanage when she gets an acceptance letter from Hogwarts. This takes place in 1981. I wrote this wayyy back in fifth grade and haven't looked at it since, but I decided to publish it for some reason. Sorry if it's bad.


Olympia's P.O.V. (1981)

I stared out the window at the scenery rushing past me. It was beautiful, no denying that. Hogwarts was sure to be, too. Hogwarts. Mrs. Fyner had said it was for special children, like me. I didn't understand. Special? I was nothing more than an orphan. A weird one at that. Technically, I wasn't an orphan, but an unwanted child. Everybody else thought I was a liar. How I wished I knew my parents.

Mrs. Fyner often talked of my mother, saying how wonderful she was and how she wished that she could see her daughter one day. She made her sound like the best person on the planet, and certainly seemed to think so. I didn't agree. If she was so wonderful, so perfect, why had she left me at the orphanage all those years ago?

I heard a thump and turned toward the door to see it slide open. The boy I was sitting with had returned from the his journey to find the food cart. He was chubby, really, but sweet. He had introduced himself as Donald Grace. He wasn't very graceful, but spoke of his family like they were. He was the first friend I had made so far. In my entire life. Very eager to get into Slytherin, apparently. He didn't want to break the family tradition, not after five hundred years. It made me wonder where my ancestors were from. It made me wonder what house my mother had been in. If she had gone to Hogwarts at all. The way Donald talked about Slytherin, though, it made me eager to see what it was like. It sounded like they had a lot of private conversations, a lot of secrets. If I got into the house, I would make it my duty to know each and every thing they talked about. I had a particular talent with eavesdropping. It was the reason I had such a low self-esteem; I had frequently listened to the bad things older children said about me. Why, in fact, on the way here, I had overheard a conversation between two nervous redheads. Something about the Sorting and wrestling trolls. I hoped it was something we didn't have to do. I wasn't exactly athletic. I was more one of those kids who skulks around, making everything their business. I convinced myself that everything _was_ my business, to feel better about myself. There weren't many places where I could do that.

"WE ARE ARRIVING SOON!" I heard a shout. The sky outside was finally turning dark, after my countless hours of staring, trying to make out the shapes of clouds.

I felt sorry for some of the smaller ones, being pushed aside by the big ones. It wasn't fair. They were all the same, clouds. It was crazy, thinking like that, but it reminded me of myself, being pushed aside by somebody, somebody that was always bigger and better than me.

I had changed into my robes as soon as I had gotten on the train. It was reasonable. There hadn't even been a line; there was sure to be one when we arrived. Besides, I didn't want people to think I was a freak, in my scrawny clothes. They weren't exactly designer, and I had worn the same outfit since I was nine. That had been when somebody had dropped off some clothes on the orphanage doorstep, with a note telling Mrs. Fyner they were for the children, most of them labeled for me. It usually would have been something I would have relished, but the other kids had looked at me with such jealousy and hate that I instantly wanted to get rid of them. I had gotten rid of them, most of them. Now, I couldn't understand why. It was so seldom that we got gifts at the orphanage, I regretted it.

I looked through the glass door and saw a redhead and a blond having a heated argument. Something about slimeballs and fathers. They didn't seem friendly, then. Nobody I had met yet had been. Most had looked down their noses at me in disgust, muttering about Mudbloods. I didn't know what it meant, but it didn't sound nice. Donald had defended me, saying that I wasn't even sure what I was. That didn't help. In fact, it did the opposite. That was the problem, I didn't know anything. Kids were practicing spells on each other and discussing the latest wizarding gossip, while I didn't even know what Hogwarts was, really, apart from that it was a boarding school that taught magic.

The Great Hall was, well, great. The massive walls loomed over you like a lion over a mouse. And the ceiling. The ceiling was beautiful, apparently bewitched to match the sky outside. The stars were bright over the students, and I could name at least five constellations. See? I belonged in the Muggle world, it was obvious. I could recite the periodic table and knew when Mozart had been born, but didn't have the slightest idea what the Daily Prophet was.

I was snapped out of my trance by a poke to my side, and turned. Donald pointed to the front of the Hall, where a stool was positioned. That wasn't it, though. An extremely old looking hat was rested on it, and seemed to have a mouth. Nothing I had had ever seen before. Nobody else seemed surprised. If this was the norm for wizards, I didn't think I would survive in this world.

Donald was snickering.

"He's in Gryffindor, see? Nobody wants to be a Gryffindor. Show-offs, they are," he proclaimed, laughing.

I was puzzled.

"What's wrong with Gryffindors? They look the same as everybody else here. That one even looks like you! ," I said angrily. It wasn't fair, saying anybody was any worse than somebody else without meeting them, or being stereotypical. They couldn't all be show-offs, could they?

Donald tried to look apologetic, but I didn't buy it.

"It's just how I was brought up, okay? Gryffindors hate Slytherins back, why don't you go yell at them?"

I didn't like what he was saying. Not one bit. Besides, he didn't even know what house he was in yet!

"Grace, Donald,'' I heard Professor McGonagall call Donald up, and he settled into the stool, a satisfied smirk on his face.

"SLYTHERIN! ," the hat shouted maybe ten seconds later, and off Donald pranced, looking very pleased with himself. He didn't even look at me when he sat down, choosing instead to converse with some other snotty first years. It barely crossed my mind that I had suddenly changed my opinion on Slytherins. I was too caught up on feeling jealous.

It wasn't long before I heard something most peculiar. Molten, Olympia. When nobody else went up, I decided it must be me. I tripped up the steps and collapsed on the stool, driving it back a foot. The hat barely touched my head when it announced I was a Hufflepuff. That was weird. So far, I had only seen that with two others: a Gryffindor and a Ravenclaw.

When the feast started, I couldn't eat. I was too frightened. Some of the teachers had seemed to lean forward during my sorting, looking a bit too interested. The Headmaster had a gleam in his eyes, boring into me. Scary? Yes.

I was astonished at how different things were here.

I had been at Hogwarts for two months now, and it was seriously warming up to me. The only thing that kept me awake at night now was the thought that kept everybody else awake. You Know Who, as they had come to call him. I had only found out about him a few days ago, on Halloween. Kids were passing around a newspaper clipping, which read "Potters Found Dead, Son Missing". Rumor had it that it was You Know Who's work; nobody had seen him for the past few days now. Some people hoped that the reason he hadn't been seen was because he was dead, which sounded very unlikely to me. From what I had heard about him so far, he was invincible in every way, even the great auror Alastor Moody hadn't been able to get him.

Maybe the boy was alive, though nobody seemed to think so. The horrid pictures in the paper were enough to discourage me. showing images of the ruined house and grieving faces at the scene of crime. An evil aura seemed to surround the home, giving you proof that all hope was lost.

I had done some research with one of my friends in Ravenclaw, and had come to the conclusion that the stories were true, You Know Who wasn't killing anymore. In fact, it seemed that he wasn't doing anything anymore. There hadn't been reports of murders or sightings for days now, which was a bit long for somebody like him.

The boy was alive. It had been confirmed by Dumbledore, who had taken special care to make sure the boy was fine and had even dropped him off at his uncle's house. Some teachers had been concerned about it, saying that it was careless and naive to drop a boy on somebody's doorstep and expect them to take good care of him. He was very special, according to almost everybody I asked. They said Voldemort was a killing force so evil no one could beat him. Unless, of course, you happened to be Harry Potter. What made it worse (or what everybody thought was worse) was that they were Muggles. Here, a lot of people treated Muggles like some kind of disease, and talked of them like they were something they had found under their shoe.

Which made it hard for me, because nobody knew what blood I was. Donald and his new friends sneered at me now, which made some of _my_ new friends angry. I couldn't blame them, though, they were like that because of their parents, and that was what I said to convince myself that Donald and I could still be friends. He had been so nice at first, before Slytherin.

"You coming to the Quidditch game today? I heard they've got a new seeker!"

I woke up to my roommate Elva standing over me, yelling in my ear. When she saw I was awake, she made no move to stop. I jumped up, accidentally punching her in the nose.

"Hey, that was unnecessary! I was just trying to wake you up! And it looks like I succeeded," she groaned, but started to laugh. "Well, I heard he's hot. Like, _really._ So we can't be late. The team's already eaten breakfast and has moved on to the pitch. Everybody's going down there now." She seemed very excited to see the new Seeker. I wanted to see the game. I had never seen a sport being played before, unless it was one of the older boys kicking around a soccer ball they had found in the dump, or on the beaten-down TV in the main room, but it was so constantly interrupted by static that the only thing you were sure about afterwards was that the orphanage needed a new TV.

So when Elva and I ran down the castle halls, our nerves jittery, we were dismayed to see (or more like feel - we crashed into it) a house elf blocking our path, muttering to himself.

"Course, gotta get the eggs, gotta get the eggs, Filbert would be mad without eggs. Where are the eggs, now, somewhere in the library? Yes, Madam Pince nearly killed me when she found eggs last time; not a nice woman, not a nice woman. Oh, dropped the list again, Filbert would be mad if I lost the list, now, wouldn't he? Yes, he'd be mad. Always mad at poor Gurdy. Poor Gurdy always gotta be afraid."

Elva looked at me in disbelief. "He's a gibbering moron, the poor thing. Aw." She knelt down to his eye level, but he ignored her and insisted on walking further, or rather, into her.

"Now a mean student's blocking my way, isn't she? Not nice. Gurdy doesn't like this student. Poor Gurdy's in a hurry, gotta get the eggs. This girl doesn't like eggs. Maybe she's allergic. Yeah, that's happened. Has it? Filbert never tells poor Gurdy anything. Nobody ever tells Gurdy anything." His big, bloodshot eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Gurdy's always sad, Filbert mean to Gurdy, Madam Pince mean to Gurdy, Girly mean to Gurdy." He looked up at Elva, fat tears sliding down his cheeks. "Let me go, Girly. Girly being mean to Gurdy. Everybody mean to Gurdy."

Elva opened her mouth to answer, but before she could, we heard a voice behind us. I turned, happy to see we weren't the only ones missing the game, but lost my cheerfulness when I realized it was Donald coming at us. His round face shone with sweat and he was pink. All dignity was not lost, though. His face held a look of arrogant disgust as he saw the dirty creature wrapped in a loincloth at his feet.

"What is that, some kind of goblin mutant? Even its tears are mixed with filth!" He laughed, obviously thinking he was the superior one in the conversation he had interrupted. He was even worse than I was!

"Well, I'm sorry if we aren't all arrogant neat-freaks like you are. Did your mummy teach you to want to clean everything? You can give the elf a bath if you like." Elva snapped back. "Unless you want to go and see your team get crushed by our new seeker, of course."

She turned on her heel and ran down the corridor, forgetting about the house elf, who apparently called himself "Gurdy". Donald turned to me, disbelief etched on his face.

"Can you believe her? I asked her what that _thing_ was and she freaked out. Just like a girl, she is. You aren't friends with her, are you? She's not one to hang around with. Surprising she's not in Gryffindor."

I knew I should be mad, because he was being a complete hypocrite, but I couldn't. Donald was talking to me, the way he used to. Sure, he was being a bit nastier than necessary, but he still was! I valued my friends, though, and didn't want some person with on-and-off friendliness slandering them.

I didn't know what expression I should force my face into, so I scowled.

"It's just like you to be dislikable, but I think I can bear with it. Have you heard about the Potters?"

I wanted to get up to date with him, we hadn't talked in so long. I wasn't surprised, though, to see that Donald scoffed.

"Of course I did, who hasn't? The Head Boy, Finn McSonk told everybody. Some kids cried in my house cried, and I don't think it was about the dead people. Some of their parents are dead loyal with You-Know-Who. Somebody's mother actually pulled them out of school for a few weeks to grieve."

I nodded and started to say something more when I was interrupted by Gurdy, who still hadn't realized that you could walk _around_ somebody. I was seriously beginning to doubt his sanity, I had heard of house elves being weird from fellow Hufflepuffs who had been down in the kitchens, but I didn't think they had come across him.

"Let me go, Meanie. Gurdy wanna go ask Filbert for list, but Meanie don't want me to go, don't want me to. Meanie mean."

I then realized that Gurdy had used his "grocery list" as a handkerchief, and the writing wasn't exactly readable anymore. A small puddle was forming at his feet, and he didn't show any signs of calming down.

Donald sighed, glaring at the elf.

"We're the only ones missing the game, as your friend stomped off a long time ago," he said angrily, offering me his arm. "So I guess we should go together."

So off we marched, down the corridor, down to the pitch. My eyes scanned the crowd when we got there, searching for my housemates. They were all the way across the field, and, uneager to cross to get there, I decided to sit with the Slytherins. Just for a while, I told myself. It turned out to be longer than that, as the new seeker actually wasn't good at all, "Seth" as they called him. He was played very gently, doing his best not to hurt anybody else on the pitch. Slytherin ended up winning, which got many cheers from the house, much to the dismay of the others.

On the way back to my house, I managed to come across a painting of a bowl of fruit. I had heard of that painting, read about it in one of my schoolbooks. It was the entrance to something, but what? I leaned against it as some sixth years passed me, looking at me suspiciously, as if I was going somewhere we weren't allowed. That just made me interested. I managed to catch a few words of their conversation, something about meddling first years and the kitchens. The kitchens! That was it. I liked food. I liked it a lot. And a day on the bleachers, yelling my lungs out could really take it out of you. Truth be told, I had taken some offered snacks during the game, and dinner was in an hour, but I couldn't wait until then.

I slid down onto the floor, thinking, my robes rustling the fruit in the art, but I didn't quite make it onto the ground. The painting suddenly was thrown open and I fell into the space behind it. I scrambled back up, and suddenly heard whispers; there was a group of house elves gathering around me, staring at me with their giant, bloodshot eyes.

I jumped as a little pinkish house elf approached me, pride etched on its features.

"You like? Pretty, yah?" it asked me happily, grinning.

The kitchen _was_ pretty, but that was probably because it like smelled like chocolate and pastries, and was filled with them, too. The stove in the back had been abandoned, so smoke was casting a creepy, murky glow on the place.

"Would you care for some cookies? They're fresh out of the fire," A house elf on my right offered, handing me a platter of what looked like circular rocks. I took them and shoved a few in my mouth at once, and almost broke my tooth on one.


End file.
